Page 41 of First-Time Caller
She shrugs. “There are things called coats, Aiden.”
“What about . . .” I try to think of the worst possible date location. “What if someone wanted to take you to a historical reenactment at Fort McHenry?”
She winces. “I’m sure that would be educational.”
“What if they wanted you to wear a bonnet and a petticoat?”
One eyebrow arches. “This is getting specific.”
“What if they wanted you to wave a flag? Sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’?”
“Is this a fantasy of yours, Aiden Valentine?”
“No.” Then I think about Lucie in a bonnet, and I walk that statement back mentally. “What about the parking lot of the abandoned Burger King? Would you go on a date there?”
“Am I being murdered?”
“I just want you to admit that there is somewhere you’d like to be taken on a date. You’re allowed to have an opinion.”
She rolls her lips, her forehead creased in thought. Her thumb rubs around the rim of her coffee mug, back and forth. Her eyes dart to me and away again.
“What is it?” I ask.
She shifts. “Nothing.”
“Nah, that’s not a nothing look on your face. You know your answer.”
“No, I—”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“Yes, you do. Tell me.”
She ducks her head slightly. “I don’t want you to make fun of me.”
Something twists in my chest. I thought we’d moved past this, but Lucie is still so convinced the things she wants aren’t things worth talking about. Who made her feel so small? Who made her hide pieces of herself? Maya’s dad, maybe? Someone else?
I cross my heart with my index finger. “I won’t. I promise.”
“I’d really like it if . . .” I watch as she scrapes together her bravery. It might be the most incredible thing about her. How she’s always willing to try. “I think it would be nice to have a picnic,” she finally says.
“A picnic,” I repeat.
“Yeah,” she says slowly, still ping-ponging her attention around the studio. “It doesn’t have to be outdoors either. Maybe on the living room floor. Nothing fancy. Carry-out from a burger place and a fort made out of sheets. Maybe a movie in the background. I don’t know. The idea always seemed nice.”
“Eating on the floor seems nice?”
She narrows her eyes. “I told you I didn’t want you to make fun of me for it.”
I hold up my hands. “I’m not. I’m just trying to understand. What do you like most about that idea?”
She goes quiet on her side of the table. She’s quiet for so long I almost nudge her for an answer again. But something keeps me still. Maybe it’s the look on her face or maybe it’s the way she’s holding her body a little too tight. Like she’s never let herself think of these things before. Like she’s never let herself want them.
“I like thinking that I’d be worth the trouble of something like that,” she confesses quietly. Her shoulder shrugs up to her ear. “I like thinking that it doesn’t need to be fancy to be special. Maybe . . . maybe they’d remember I like fountain soda best or daisies instead of roses. Little things that’d let me know they’ve been paying attention.” Her eyes lift back to mine. That twist in my chest again, sharper this time. “I like that. Thinking that I’m worth paying attention to. Something ordinary made extraordinary by the person you’re sharing it with.” She looks back down at her half-empty coffee mug. “That’s the sort of date I’d want.”
FRIDAY NIGHT
